Blind Man's Bluff
by DOKChairman
Summary: Vaughn visits his father's grave on the anniversary of his father's death. While there he runs into someone he doesn't want to see. Another angsty story from yours truly. This completes the Trifecta of Pain, Angst, and Death.


Title: Blind Man's Bluff

Author: DOKChairman

  


Author's Note: This story completes my trifecta of Vaughn angst. Nothing like an emotional enema to cleanse the anal cavity of your soul.

  


Blind Man's Bluff

  
  


A young man is walking through a park when he notices an old blind man sitting on a bench staring up at the sky. Curious as to why the old man is staring at the sky, the young man walks up to the old man and asks, "Why are you staring at the sky?"

The old man levels his head to fix the young man with a gentle smile. The old man responds, "The sky is beautiful."

Confused, the young man says, "But how do you know the sky is beautiful? You're blind."

The old man chuckles lightly. He returns to staring at the sky. "The sky is clear and blue today. It's beautiful."

Again, the young man is confused. "But how do you know that the sky is blue?"

The old man responded simply, "Someone told me."

"Wait, so because somebody told you that the sky was blue you just believe them?"

The old man fixated the young man with an odd look. "Of course. I trust that what the person told me was true. Without trust, life is empty and cruel. Why live in a world like that?"

"Trust is supposed to be earned, not given blindly." The young man said.

The old man said seriously, "All trust is blind my boy. Those that claim otherwise are the blindest of them all."

  
  
  


I was 8 when it happened. I remember the day so clearly. I had just gotten home from school when I noticed the car in front of the driveway. It had been a car I'd never seen before and so naturally I was curious. I tightened the strap of my bookbag on my shoulder and I took off toward the door of my house as fast as my lanky legs could take me.

I remember that I had been excited. And why shouldn't I have? I was 8, just beginning to learn the ways of the world, and I had just seen something I'd never seen before. I was giddy with Christmas-like excitement. Perhaps it was my father actually home from work early for once. With a new car no less. For once, I thought even more excitedly, I could showoff something that Tommy Grange didn't have. I could go up to him and smugly ask him, "When was the last time your father had a _new_ car?" That thought excited me more than anything else. Or maybe it was a relative from out of town visiting for the day. It could have been any number of things. All I knew was that my naturally inquisitive pre-adolescent mind desperately wanted to know what new thing awaited it inside.

I yanked the wooden door open, and ran inside. I tossed my bookbag on the floor as I ran, the bag spilling its contents on the floor in my wake. I didn't care; I could clean up whatever mess I made later. There were more important things to do.

My feet scurried against the tile of the entryway. I remember almost tripping over an untied shoelace in my haste. I soon reached the end of the entryway and leapt enthusiastically onto the brown carpet that covered the hallway. I was almost to the living room. My excitement building even more.

For some reason, I remember myself firmly believing on my way to the living room that it was my father waiting. I don't remember why, all I remember was thinking that my father was actually home. I remember wanting to ask him to play catch with me.

Work always kept him so busy that we rarely got to spend any time with each other. I was determined that since he was home, early no less, we would do something, anything together. I just wanted to be with my father.

I finally reached the end of the short hallway and came upon the large, open, comfortable living room. My eyes were wide, my breath puffing from anticipation, and my whole body tensed to leap into my father's arm for a hug. That was when I saw them.

There were two of them with my mother. I had never seen either man before, but I instantly recognized the white clerical collar on one of the men. I was old enough, not to mention I had been to church enough, to instantly recognize what that meant. I remember feeling my whole body going numb. Even at 8, I knew the presence of a priest in my house was not a good thing.

And then I saw my mother. Her eyes were red and subdued, her whole body was slouched and boneless, and she was crying. Instantly, my concern over my mother's distress had spurned me into action. Immediately I ran up to her. I remember asking timidly, "Momma? What's wrong? Are you ok?"

My mother had raised her head to look at me. For what seemed like an eternity to me she just stared. And then suddenly, her arms were wrapped tightly around me and she was sobbing openly. I tried to hold her as well as I could, but my arms were just not long enough to wrap all the way around her body. I remember that she had started to mutter nonsensical, to me at least, French into my ear as she cried.

By now I was scared. Completely afraid. I had never seen my mother act like this and I started to feel myself losing control. I was only 8 years old and it was just too much for me to take in. I knew that boys weren't supposed to cry but I just knew that something was horribly wrong. I knew that my life would never be the same after this day.

I remember that one of the men had cleared his throat rather uncomfortably. I remember turning a tear filled eye to look at him and I remember how he had fidgeted. The man spoke, "I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs. Vaughn but I'm afraid I have to go."

My mother loosened her hold on me and attempted to compose herself. With very little feeling in her voice she said, "Of course."

The man's eyes turned downcast and he said, "Once again I'm deeply sorry for your loss." The man paused and then added, "If you have no more questions I'll leave you and your son to your grief. I'll see myself out."

My mother tentatively smiled at the man and he just gently nodded his head. He started to walk away when he suddenly stopped. His hand slipped into the pocket of the brown coat he was wearing and fished something out. I remember that despite my confusion and my being overwhelmed by what was happening, I was immediately curious about whatever the man held in his hand.

The man walked up to my mother and handed her a gold watch. I instantly recognized it as my father's watch. I remember wondering to myself why some strange man had had my father's favorite watch. I remember that I had kept shifting my attention from the watch to the strange man. Something was not right here. Where was my father?

The man had spoke again, this time his voice was full of emotion. "They...found this with him. I know how much it meant to him and I know how much he would want you to have it."

I remembered that my mother had genuinely smiled at that. A wistful look had come over her face and she had thanked the man. The man patted my mother on the shoulder and then he walked out the way I had come in.

I was even more confused than ever before. I looked up at my mom and I asked her again what was wrong. I remember her just looking at me sadly. She leaned back and gently wiped my tears off my cheeks with her thumbs. She had smiled very gently at me as if she was afraid that I would fall apart. I remember feeling the same way about her.

That was when the priest had spoke up. "If you would like me to stay Mrs. Vaughn I would be more than happy to."

My mother had shook her head no. "Thank you Father but that's not necessary." Her voice caught, "I...just want to be alone with my son."

The priest nodded his head in understanding and I remember him leaving in much the same grave manner as his companion.

After the priest had left I had turned back to face my mother. I remember the first words out of my mouth being, "Momma, did something happened to dad?"

My mother's lower lip had quivered and her eyes had squeezed shut but she did not start crying again. My mother had always been strong like that.

Her beautiful, penetrating brown eyes had opened and she locked her gaze on me. She placed both her hands gently on my shoulder and gave them a loving squeeze. She finally opened her mouth. "Michael, I have something to tell you. Something horrible has happened to your father..."

I remember reliving all my memories of my father as my mother went onto explain to me everything that had happened to him. I remember the birthday where he had spent all day taking me ice skating for the first time. It was my father that had introduced me to the wonders of hockey and every time I set foot on the ice I remember him. I remember all the times where he had helped me with my homework. I remember every time he would get frustrated with me because I would not stop pestering him about playing catch. I remembered my father as much as my 8 year old mind could.

I remember making a promise to myself that day. I promised that I would never forget my father. Never. However, I was 8 and an 8 year old doesn't completely understand what a promise like that entails. He doesn't understand the complexities of life and the moments of forgetfulness. An 8 year old doesn't think about growing up, working a job, and falling in love. An 8 year old never thinks he will forget the greatest father a boy could ever had.

An 8 year old doesn't, but a man does. And I did.

  
  


I gently placed the flowers on top of the large marble grave stone and stepped back to study the marker. 'William Vaughn. 1940-1977. A beloved husband, and a beloved father. He died for his country.'

I tried to think of something to say but nothing came to my mind. What could I say that would make up for all the years of neglect? I had intentionally locked the memories of my father in a dark corner of my mind; never intending to let them out. I had done so because I was selfish. I had done it because I wanted to show that I had moved on and that I could accept the circumstances that led to my father's death. I had done it because I was blind.

A memory suddenly came to me as I looked at my father's grave. It was a pleasant memory of a time when my father had still been alive. I had been 7 at the time and my father had been working late into the night on some files for work. I had come out of my room, the curiosity eating away at me and preventing me from sleep, and I had walked up to my father and asked him what he was doing.

"What are you doing dad?"

He had been angry at first. Wondering why I was still up. But eventually he had caved to me, he always did when I pouted. "I'm just finishing some stuff for work. You should be in bed."

I remember how I had suddenly blurted, "Are you a spy?" And how his eyes had widened in surprise.

"Why do you say that Michael?"

I remember my voice getting all excited and I had started rambling, "Well, its just that Tommy said that he had the bestest dad in the world because his dad works for the FBI. I told him that that wasn't true because my dad worked as a spy for the CIA." My voice suddenly grew sullen, "But he didn't believe me. He called me a liar." Then my eyes had widened and I looked up at my father hopefully. "Are you a spy, daddy? That would be great and then I could show Tommy that you're cooler than his father."

I remember that my father had laughed real hard after I had finished. A real genuine laugh that in retrospect wasn't something he did very often. Now, it made me feel good that I had given my father an opportunity to laugh like that. Back then had been a different story.

I had thought he was making fun of me. I had pouted and I had turned away to go stomping to my room but my father had grabbed hold of my arm and stopped me. Smiling indulgently at me he had said, "I'm sorry son. I didn't mean to laugh. You shouldn't be so worried about me being cooler than Tommy's father."

"Are you a spy," I asked pointedly. It may or may not have mattered to him whether or not he was cooler than Tommy's father, but my reputation was on the line and it mattered to me.

His smile had waned a little bit when he answered my question. "I work for the CIA Michael, you know that. But I'm not a spy."

My hopeful look crashed and I felt crushed. How was I supposed to look Tommy in the eye anymore? My father saw my disappointment and pulled me into a hug. He said, "You should go off to bed"

I began to pull myself away when my father whispered into my ear, "Between you and me Michael, Tommy's father may work for the FBI but I bet I could beat him up." I remember grinning wildly at that thought as he let me go and I ran back to my room. I remember thinking that maybe my father was really cooler than Tommy's father after all. I couldn't wait to talk to him in the morning.

I came out of the memory of with a soft smile on my face and a sheen of wetness over my eyes. I quickly shut my eyes to stop the flow of tears and my hands clenched by my sides. 

That was when I felt her. Her presence was almost palpable. It was all encompassing and I began to feel as if I was suffocating.

I sighed audibly but I did not turn around. The last thing I wanted to do was look at her. Certainly not here of all places.

I asked harshly, "What are you doing here?"

Her answer was quiet, but velvet smooth. "I knew that you would be here. It is his anniversary after all."

"You're damn right it is! You have no reason to be here. Go away!" I barked out at her.

My explosion did nothing to phase her. "No. You and I need to talk."

I shook my head in disgust and turned around to face her. "I have nothing to say to you."

Her face hardened slightly. "If you won't do it for me, then do it for her. It would make her so incredibly happy if you and I could at least have an amicable relationship."

I looked at her incredulously. "You want to have this conversation here? Over my father's grave?"

"Yes."

I couldn't believe the nerve of this woman. I hated her for what she did to my family and here she was standing over my father's grave asking me to get along with her. It was almost too incredible for me to believe.

A thought suddenly came to me and I asked, "Where is Jack?"

The woman smiled faintly and her eyes lightened. She turned her head to give a quick look over her shoulder to the area behind her. She turned back to face me and said, "He's waiting for me in the car."

"He let you come out here alone?" I couldn't believe that. Jack never let the woman out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Yes. I suggested that you and I have a talk and he agreed." She paused and then continued, "We're both very worried about the state of your relationship with Sydney. This ambivalence you have towards me is driving a wedge between you and my daughter."

I sighed and brought up a hand to run it wearily through my hair. What she was saying was true, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. I tiredly responded, "You think I don't know that? You think I don't see how we've drifted apart? Because I can and I certainly don't need you tell me that."

"If you can see what is going on then why aren't you doing anything to stop it?" She asked pointedly.

I sighed. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, but it pretty much summed up my general mood as of late. "I think it would be best for both of us if things just ended."

For the first time since she had shown up her face showed real emotion. "You just want to end it? Just like that? All because you have trouble accepting that I'm now an important part Sydney's life aga..."

I exploded, "Trouble accepting? You murdered my father!" I regained enough control over myself to lower my voice. "Since I was 8 years old I've had to live without a father. I've had to live without somebody to take me skating, to play catch with me, to talk to me about women and life. I've had to live without a father because of you. You destroyed my family. You."

I took a step closer to her and rose to my full height. "I love your daughter with all my heart. I truly do. But I cannot do what she asks. I can tolerate you. I can even allow myself to accept that you are a part of her life. But I will never forgive you and I will certainly never forget. If she can't accept that then she is the one with the problem."

By the time I was finished I was breathing heavily and I felt physically exhausted. I shakily sunk down to the ground and pulled my knees up to my chest.

I looked up at Irina and was struck for the millionth time how alike she and her daughter looked. It truly was uncanny. 

"I am deeply sorry for the pain that I have caused you and your family Michael." I cringed slightly at hearing my first name roll off the tongue of a woman I despise. "I truly am. I have done many things in my life that I am not proud of and I will live with the guilt from those actions for the rest of my life. There is nothing I will ever be able to do that will make up for the loss of your father but I would like for you to give me the opportunity to try."

I grew quiet at that. I picked at a blade of grass near my hand as I contemplated her words. "I will tell you the same thing I told Sydney. I don't care if you want to be a part of her life. I don't care if she wants to call you mom and eat Thanksgiving dinner at your house. I don't care. Just don't expect me to feel the same way."

I stood up and turned to take one last look at my father's grave. I reached out and traced my finger along the engraving of my father's name. I remembered his laughter as I did so. Deep, hearty, warm. It made me smile.

And then I turned around and started walking. I stopped as I reached Irina. I fixated my eyes on the horizon as I stood next to her. When I spoke, I did so quietly. "Sydney is blinded by the trust she has in you. I am not. I will give you the trust you want when you prove to me you deserve it. Trust is for the blind Irina, and I see everything."

I began walking, leaving the woman with the man she murdered. My life was in front of me, hers was buried in the ground. I thought of myself and my father playing catch in the backyard of our house. And I walked out of the cemetery with a small smile on my face.

  
  
  


P.S. Well, its another angst piece from me. A little bit different than my others and quite frankly a whole lot crappier. I know that it doesn't have nearly the emotional impact as For Love of Country but it was something on my mind and I just had to write it down. I figure with all this talk about Vaughn, his father, Syd's distrust in him, and Irina becoming a gray hat, it was time for me to write a little bit about it. This was just a quick, somewhat superficial, foray into Vaughn's mind. Please don't flame me! I forgot where I put my flame retardant jacket. If I get enough bad reviews I might rewrite the thing. Who knows? I sure as hell don't.

  
  



End file.
